


My Father's Lover

by LeelaLaFleur



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Adultery, Angst and Romance, Betrayal, Drama, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Qui-Gon is Anakin's biological father, teenager Anakin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-06-09 06:24:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6893674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeelaLaFleur/pseuds/LeelaLaFleur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Anakin's father (Qui-Gon) brings his new lover (Obi-Wan) to their house for a dinner, Anakin is not quite sure how to feel about the whole situation. As any other slightly-hormonal, angsty teenager, he does not want anyone to fill his late mother's place at Qui-Gon's side, but Obi-Wan Kenobi is simply too kriffing likable to hate (no matter how much Anakin tries).<br/>Soon Anakin starts finding himself unable to keep his thoughts off the gorgeous ginger, but is worth betraying his father's trust?<br/>Lies will be told and hearts will be broken, I promise!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meeting Him

Unusually heavy silence fell over the car’s cabin and Anakin noticed his father’s eyes repeatedly drifting from the road to him and back to the road. Familiar sets of suburban houses zoomed past the windows as the car sped towards their home at the southern edge of Coruscant city limits. Anakin’s father, Qui-Gon, straightened his posture in the driver’s seat for what seemed like hundredth time during the short drive and brought the vehicle’s speed down to 35mph.

Five mph BELOW the speed limit.

Anakin had to stop himself from rolling his eyes at the older man’s restless behavior. It was almost like his father was _trying_ to make this ride as unbearably long as possible.  

To be completely honest, Anakin did not mind Qui-Gon’s driving habits that much- after all, since his little baby, a bright red 68’ Mustang, was temporarily out-of-service, he was almost completely dependent on the kindness of his father to drive him every day from and to the university.

But today was different. The mood was too tense.  

Eventually the older man spoke, some nervousness filtering into his normally carefree tone: “So…”

Intrigued and partially amused at his father’s sudden change in mood, Anakin repeated: “So?”

“I-uh…any plans for tomorrow evening?” asked Qui-Gon.

Anakin did not have any, but the hesitant quiver in the corners of his father’s mouth urged caution. Previously, Qui-Gon had ever only asked similar questions when something important was about to happen, but since the blond couldn’t think of any important, upcoming events, he knew he had to tread carefully.

“Why?” he asked tentatively, arching his eyebrows quizzically for a good measure.

“Anakin, I have been…uh…seeing someone for quite some time” elaborated Qui-Gon with a hesitant grin.

_Ah, that would explain a lot_ , thought Anakin.

He had noticed the odd improvement in his father’s mood and a few inconspicuous lifestyle changes during past few months- The older man had started to dress just a tad nicer whenever going out, trimmed his beard on a regular basis, stopped skipping on his morning jogs, and, to everyone’s utter surprise, finally cleaned out the ever-present clutter from the back seat of his car. On top of that, even though it was never mentioned out loud, Anakin was pretty sure that Qui-Gon had recently his hair dyed to cover up the graying strands on his temples. Over all his father seemed happier than he has seen him in ages.

The key question was why was he being told now?

Anakin slowly nodded for his father to continue.

“And I would like you to meet him. Maybe we could all have a dinner together...”

Anakin’s already arched eyebrows shot up even higher at the statement, a tight knot forming around his esophagus.

It wasn’t like he minded his father having a lover, after all it has been almost a decade since his mother had passed away and he had never expected him to stay single forever, but bringing that person into their home was a whole another level of a familiarity.

 In the past, there were a few lovers that Anakin knew of, but his father had always made it a point to keep his affairs completely separate from their home and household. So if he actually wanted Anakin to meet this person, it meant that the liaison had evolved beyond mere physical needs and mutual attraction.

And Anakin wasn’t sure he was ready to accept somebody new into their little family.

“Dad, I don’t-” he started to protest, but Qui-Gon interrupted him with a hand on his shoulder, gently squeezing.

“Anakin, please, this is very important to me.” He pleaded, for a moment diverging his attention from the road ahead to give his son a very imploring look.

“Do it for your poor, old father, hmm?” he added jokingly, gently nudging the blond’s arm.

Anakin sighed. The truth was that his dad _did_ seem very content with this man and what sort of a son would he be if he denied him the happiness he more than deserved?

“Alright, dad. You can bring him over.” A small smile appeared on Anakin’s lips briefly before he feigned seriousness, pointing his index finger in Qui-Gon’s direction in an accusatory manner: “But no weird sex stuff while I am there, okay?”

Qui-Gon laughed heartily, throwing his free arm up defensively: “Alright, alright. I promise.”

They arrived at their driveway, but before Anakin could get out of his seat his father grabbed his hand gently.

“Thank you” he said and the sincerity of the gratitude reflected in his expression, made Anakin pause.

Just like any other parent-child duo, they did not always get along, but Qui-Gon was without a doubt the best parent Anakin could ever ask for.

Squeezing his hand in return, Anakin nodded and hopped out of the car.

“And Anakin?” called his father behind him, leaning on the roof of the vehicle and grinning: “Please, do try to wear something a little bit more presentable than usual.”

The youngster looked down at his current clothing, not understanding what exactly is wrong with it. His favorite pair of torn jeans hung loosely on his narrow hips, exposing the blue band of his boxers. He wore a black leather jacket, a white t-shirt that said: SHIT HAPPENS. LONG LIVE ANARCHY in big, bold letters, and a pair of red converse shoes with mismatched shoelaces.

_Well, maybe I could lose the shirt_ , Anakin thought critically, eyeing the well-worn hem of the said t-shirt, _and maybe the pants, too_.  

He was already putting more effort into this ‘date’ than he really wanted to.

“Whatever, dad” he sighed with a roll of his eyes. Qui-Gon laughed again and both man strolled into the house.

XXX

The evening of the dinner came faster than Anakin cared to admit.

Looking at his own reflection in the living room mirror, Anakin fought hard to suppress the urge to groan. The only nice dress shirt he owned, which happened to be the same shirt he bought two years ago to wear on his first date with Padme, now felt way too tight on his body and the sleeves barely reached his wrists. Moreover, he had managed to rip off one of the frontal button when he was pulling the shirt over his head, so he had naturally attempted to re-sew it back up. Needless to say, after three stabbed fingers and one bent needle, he had fixed the issue with an old safety pin.  

_At least he’s not making me wear a suit_ , thought Anakin bitterly, desperately trying to shove the bottom hem of the shirt into his jeans, which in the moment seemed like an impervious, never-ending struggle.

Finally managing to make the outfit look somewhat tidy, Anakin turned back to the mirror in attempt to tame that mop of wild, dirty blond curls on his head that people called hair. Another lost battle…

Qui-Gon, chuckling at his son’s suffering, walked to stand behind the youngster and put his hands on Anakin’s shoulders in familiar calming gesture. Anakin looked at him through the reflective surface. For now the older man was almost an inch taller with broader chest, but considering the laws of genetics and his continuing growth spurt, Anakin knew it was only a question of few months before the two of them reached an equal height.

“Don’t worry, you look great” smiled Qui-Gon encouragingly and quickly re-adjusted the collar of Anakin’s shirt. The blond grinned in return.

“Shouldn’t it be me telling _you_ that?” joked Anakin. It was clear his father was just as nervous about the dinner as himself. Qui-Gon had been preparing for it the whole afternoon- tiding the house, cooking, and setting the old dining room table that they haven’t used in ages. He had even purchased an excessively overpriced bottle of vintage red wine with a claim that it’s his lover’s absolute favorite.

“Obi-Wan is a great person” said Qui-Gon, gently massaging Anakin’s shoulders: “I think you are going to like him.”

Unfortunately, the younger man was not so sure about that and the closer he was to meeting this Obi-Wan the less enthusiastic he became. Maybe he was already jealous of the strange man for having his father’s affection, or maybe he was simply afraid of the change that would a new person bring to their home, to his life. What if Qui-Gon wanted them to actually move in? What if they wanted to take a role as his parent?

Anakin’s stomach churned unpleasantly at the thought, but he forced his expression to remind somewhat keen: “Don’t get your hopes up, old man.”

“Wouldn’t dare” quipped Qui-Gon, giving his son a knowing look.

Anakin was just about to respond with another witty remark, when the doorbell rang. Qui-Gon quickly excused himself and disappeared into the hallway leading to the front door.

It was now or never, sighed Anakin, stuffing his hands into his pockets and slowly trailing after his father.

He could hear his father’s booming voice laced with excitement: “Glad you could make it!”

“Sorry. The traffic on the bridge was horrid.” Answered another, much softer, voice. Its Coruscantee accent was crisp with strong enunciation on the first syllable to the point that it reminded Anakin more of characters from old, black and white films rather than a real person. That meant that Obi-wan was probably quite old.

Internally cringing at the image of a wrinkly, toothless man with paper-white hair kissing his father, Anakin rounded the corner, stopping dead in his tracks.

His father stood on the opposite end of the small hallway, head bent down, lips locked in a passionate kiss with his lover. Over Qui-Gon’s broad shoulders, Anakin couldn’t distinguish any of the stranger’s features other than the lesser height. What he could see though was his father’s large hand brushing down the other man’s side, slowly sliding underneath an untucked shirt, and greedily pressing his fingers into the now-exposed skin of his lover’s hip. The stranger not only didn’t pull away, but also encouraged Qui-Gon’s eager ministrations by tangling his hand in the taller man’s long hair and tugging his face even closer to his own.

Unable to watch anymore of such blunt display of affection, Anakin cleared his throat loudly.

Leaving his hand firmly planted at his lover’s side, Qui-Gon immediately interrupted the kiss and turned around to face his son.

“Anakin, come here.” He beckoned Anakin closer, taking step aside, and allowing his son to stand face to face with the new arrival.

Feeling his jaw go slack, the blond finally understood his father’s recent urge to get in better shape- the man in his arms was drop-dead gorgeous. His short, reddish hair was neatly styled away from his face except few stray strands that fell leisurely over a twin pair of bright, emerald-colored eyes. There was a small dimple in the middle of his strong chin, and, even though his perfectly straight nose and sharp cheekbones looked like they were created by a Roman master sculptor, his most dashing feature, in Anakin’s opinion, was the bright, wide smile plastered on his full lips. Anakin figured that the man must be a good decade and half younger than his father, and based on his brand-name slacks and a silk tie, probably also from a wealthier class. Simply put, his father’s new lover was absolutely, utterly _hot_.

Hastily closing his mouth back up, the blond took a few steps forward and gently grabbed the redhead’s offered hand in his.

“Anakin, this is Obi-Wan Kenobi” grinned Qui-Gon proudly, sneaking his arm around his lover.

For some reason, Anakin felt his stomach drop.   

XXXTO-BE-CONTINUEDXXX         

 

 

 

 


	2. Our Dirty Little Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin's having some conflicting emotions regarding their guest :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have switched from past tense to present tense, what do you think? yay or nay? Drop me a line and I will figuratively die of euphoria :D

Another soft, utterly too erotic, moan resonates through the otherwise silent house, forcing Anakin to press the pillow, that is already covering his head, a little tighter over his ears.

It has been at least an hour since his father and Obi-Wan have “retired for the night” and the symphony of breathless gasps and sinful sighs coming from his father’s bedroom has yet to cease. Anakin quickly regrets leaving his headphones in the garage, but also thanks all the power in the universe that at least his father’s bed is sturdy enough so he doesn’t have to listen to the famous rhythmic bumping of the headboard against a wall.

He whines pathetically as an unsolicited, mental image of their red-headed guest, flushed and moaning, pressed against the hard, wooden headboard of his bed makes its way to his restless mind. 

Pushing his head further into the frail safety of his fluffy pillow, he starts to regret ever agreeing to this dinner arrangement.

The biggest problem is that he actually likes Kenobi. From his observations during the dinner, the older man is courteous, well-educated, and surprisingly funny- making clever comments, the merry tone of his voice laced with dry sarcasm to the point that Anakin had to more than once stop himself from laughing out loud. Every adverse expectation he had about his father’s new lover has evaporated one by one as the dinner went on. And of course, most importantly, Qui-Gon seems absolutely smitten with the short male. His dad was never one sappy romance, so it was actually kind of entertaining to watch him fret over the Obi-Wan’s comfort and look at him with those love-sick-puppy eyes all evening.     

A smooth, accented voice, chuckling and whispering words he is glad he cannot not discern, brings Anakin back to the unpleasant reality of his dimmed bedroom.

 _Enough_ , decides the blond and swiftly hops out of his bed.

He can’t stand listening to the two lovers anymore.

Forgoing to change from his sleeping pants and an old wife-beater, Anakin expertly sneaks through his bedroom door, down the stairs, and heads straight toward the garage. Once there, he quickly rummages through his old toolbox, pulling out a half-empty box of cigarettes from his secret stack. He smokes only occasionally and definitely never at home, because he is pretty sure that Qui-Gon would throw a fit, were he to find out that his son partakes in such “distasteful and unhealthy” activity. But tonight the blond feels like he really needs it.

Walking back to the kitchen, he slides open the back door and walks out on to the covered part of a porch. It's raining and small puddles start to form between the patches of grass right below the wooden construction.

As soon as the thick, acrid smoke fills his lungs, the youngster starts to feel considerably less fidgety. He sets the rest of the cigarettes and his favorite lighter on the railing where they wouldn’t get wet and leans his back on a nearby wall. The sound of raindrops hitting the roof is calming and the blond soon found himself getting lost in the pleasant hum.

The burning tobacco has nearly reached the filter when a sound of footsteps coming from the kitchen forces Anakin back to reality.

“Shit,” he curses under his breath and with a speed of light tosses the remnant of the cigarette over the railing into the rain. The last thing he needs is for Qui-Gon to learn about his little illicit habit and cause a scene in front of their guest. He hastily reaches for the pack that still sits on the railing so that he can stuff it into his pocket before his father has a chance to catch a glimpse, but in his rush only manages to knock the small box down into one of the puddles. Unfortunately, there is no time to retrieve it as the back door starts to swing open, and Anakin is too busy taking as many inconspicuous breaths of fresh air as possible in attempt to get most of the clingy tabacco smell out of his breath.

“An’kin?”

The blond jumps, his head snapping up at the now-familiar Coruscantee accent.

Obi-Wan Kenobi stands at the door in nothing more than Qui-Gon’s old sweatpants and the black suit jacket he was wearing earlier. Underneath the half-unbuttoned top, Anakin can clearly see firm, flat muscles of his abdomen decorated with a thin trail of fine hair running from his bellybutton straight down, where it disappears below the waistband of the pants. Realizing the completely inappropriate direction of his stare, he quickly turns his head away.    

“Oh, it’s you” Anakin lets out a breath he did not realize he was holding, even though he isn’t quite sure whether to be relieved or not. True, Kenobi does not have the parental authority to chastise him like Qui-Gon, but there is always the chance he will simply turn around and run to tell the older man. 

“I am sorry if I have frightened you… Your father is letting me stay the night” the older man explains hastily once he sees Anakin’s surprised reaction to his presence.

“Yes, I have _heard_ ” Anakin draws out, suddenly annoyed. He does not mean to use such harsh tone, but any reminder of night’s previous events make his eyes roll.

Instantly catching Anakin’s meaning, Obi-Wan shifts uncomfortably, blushing, and a simple “ _oh_ ” falls out of his lips.

Seeing the red-head’s ashamed expression, Anakin instantly wants to shove his unnecessarily withering words right back down his throat. But since that unfortunately is not possible, he opts for one of his most apologetic smiles: “Sorry. It’s really none of my business.”

Kenobi doesn’t answer at first, his neatly trimmed brows furrow contemplatively as if he is deciding on the integrity of the teen’s apology, but eventually nods.

Sighing at his own foolish behavior, the blond turns to face the garden again. His eyes drift to the pack of cigarettes, which he’s accidentally knocked down into the grass, and which is now rapidly soaking up all the grime and water from the muddy ground.

 _Pity,_ he thinks. Now he will need to beg one of his older friends to purchase a new one for him, or maybe he will try using his awesome fake ID.

“Does your father know you smoke?” Obi-Wan, who appears out of nowhere at his side, asks. To Anakin’s surprise, the ginger's tone is neither condemning nor disrelishing, yet he does not dare to look up to meet the man’s gaze in fear of his own reaction. There is no point in trying to deny the fact that he has been indeed smoking when Kenobi walked out, because the incriminating evidence is right in front of them, slowly sinking deeper and deeper into the damp soil.  

“Are you going to tell on me?” the teen asks, forcing his tone to stay even and seemingly uninterested. His brain still refuses to meet the older man’s eyes, so his gaze automatically shifts to the second most intimidating thing there, which happens to be the weeping, black clouds in the sky.

“Only if you tell on me” chuckles the smooth voice next to him and Anakin is finally compelled to face the other male. With raised eyebrows, the boy watches as Obi-Wan pulls out a delicate golden case from the left pocket of his suit jacket and opens it, revealing a perfectly straight row of black-papered cigarettes. Then, from the same pocket, he also retrieves a matchbox and a short, elegant cigarette holder, which he immediately pops into his mouth. Before he gets himself a cigarette though, Obi-Wan turns to Anakin with an unsure expression.

“Since your pack seems to be …ah, no longer usable, would you like one of mine, perhaps?”

He hoists the metallic case closer to the younger man and waits for him to take one before grabbing one for himself and expertly pushing it into the holder. Anakin doesn’t put his in the mouth right away, rather he watches the ginger’s nimble fingers as they pry one of the matches free from its paper confinement.

 _Who would have guessed Obi-Wan to be a smoker_ , thinks Anakin somewhat amused, _and who would have guessed he would be hiding it from my father._

He can actually understand _why_ would Obi-Wan hide this from Qui-Gon. The man, despite his usually carefree and understanding nature, can be sometimes so quick to jump to unmerited conclusions and opinions. And Anakin knows this too well- he inherited this trait from him, for crying out loud.

But the ginger doesn’t look too perturbed. His already handsome face looks relaxed, even the faint laugh lines around corners of his mouth seems to have vanished, his lips are swollen from prior bedroom activities, and Anakin is once more reminded just how beautiful Kenobi is. For a brief moment, as they light their cigarettes in unison, he wonders how it would feel to have Obi-Wan all to himself, but promptly dispels the inappropriate thought. What kind of son would he be to pin after his own father’s lover?

Next to him, Obi-Wan leans on the railing, the cigarette holder lightly grasped between two rows of pearl-white teeth. The older man smiles brightly and Anakin can’t help but to return the gesture.    


	3. Bang, Bang All Over You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin is getting blitzed at The Outlander and Obi-Wan is there to save him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: foul language ahead! also intoxication and drug use!

“Alright. This is done, although we should probably re-read paragraphs 22 through 47…again. Just to make sure” instructs Obi-Wan and pushes the outrageously thick stack of marked papers in his hand across the table to his shaggy-haired companion. Quinlan Vos, who already looks like he’s ready to have a nervous breakdown, lets out a vocalized sign of utter distaste towards said documents and hesitantly brings it closer, inspecting each line that Kenobi has highlighted and muttering something that sounds a lot like ‘this is the last time I’m helping you’.

Despite the ostentatious show of displeasure, Vos is quick to grab his pen and dutifully make amendments to the text wherever he deems it necessary. Obi-Wan sips on his fifth cup of Tarine tea as he quietly watches the other man work.

The thing is that the ginger’s been working on this adhesion contract for nearly a month, and, as is standard in the business world, the stakes are high and time is running out faster than expected. So naturally, two days away from the deadline, he has finally decided that the situation is just desperate enough and called for help of the best corporate lawyer in town. But, as was his luck, Luminara Unduli was too preoccupied with a different case to meet him on such short notice, so in the end he was assigned Unduli’s trainee Quinlan, who also happened to be his old classmate and- more importantly- probably the laziest, sloppiest attorney ever.

And that is exactly why they are here, flooded up to their ears in paperwork at Dex’s a.k.a the only semi-quiet coffee shop downtown that stays open this late. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Obi-Wan has to admit that it’s partly his fault as well.   

 “Thanks for doing this, Quin. I know that this is not your preferred way to spend Saturday night” he says, giving his friend an understanding smile.

Vos’ eyebrows twitch upwards in amusement: “Are you insinuating that going through 300 pages of corporate bullshit _instead_ of having a date with some pretty, long-legged bartender across the street is _not_ fun?”

Obi-Wan is about to make a joke about his friend’s insatiable sex-drive, when Quinlan interrupts him: “And it’s Sunday”

The ginger checks his watch and the small, round display indeed reads 12:47 AM, which means they have been working on this for over 5 hours.

“Force! Is the work ever going to end?” he complains, looking around the empty room. Most of the chairs and tables in the room are already put up and the only things disturbing the peaceful silence are a continuous hum of Dex’s dishwasher and muted sounds of drums coming from The Outlander across the street.

“Prob’ly not” Quinlan concludes for him and returns to scribbling notes onto a loose leaf of paper.

Glancing out the large window by their table, Obi-Wan spots a familiar mop of wild golden curls.

Qui-Gon’s son, Anakin, is standing- more like _wobbling_ \- on a sidewalk near the bar’s entrance, surrounded by a small group of comically overdressed peers. His right arm is leisurely flung over shoulders of a short, dark skinned girl with a full head of white-blue dreadlocks, his left is holding a cigarette. Few people of the group move onto chatting with a bouncer, waving Anakin and his girlfriend to follow them.    

Obi-Wan briefly wonders if he should add ‘most likely has a fake ID’ to the growing list of secrets he knows about Anakin Skywalker. There is now no doubt in his mind that the little blond rascal is Qui-Gon’s blood- not only has Anakin inherited his father’s broad shoulders and strong jawline, but obviously also his incredibly lax approach to rules.

A small, fond smile makes its way to Obi-Wan’s lips at the though.

“Obi-Wan!” Quinlan’s commanding voice interrupts his musings, making his gaze avert from the blond boy and return to his friend.

“Huh?”

Vos’ left eyebrow quirks up a fraction into a questioning expression, which quickly starts to borderline on smug once his eyes find the group of teenagers, lips curling up into a secretive grin.

“I don’t think your boyfriend would approve of you ogling a young, obviously-too-drunk, blond boy in ass-tight leather pants” teases the lawyer, purposefully pointing his pen in the club’s direction. Obi-Wan is tempted to look if Quinlan is actually pointing at Anakin, but for the sake of his own dignity he keeps his eyes on the table.

“Quinlan!” he huffs, feigning offense at first, but then he smirks: “But you are right- Qui-Gon would definitely not approve of me ‘ogling’ this one”

He leans on the table, propping his chin on the top of his joined hands, perfectly mirroring Vos’ shit-eating grin.

“The obviously-too-drunk boy is his son” he explains calmly, gesturing towards the blonde, and watches as Quinlan’s self-assured face transforms into a one of complete shock.

“That’s Qui-Gon’s kid?” the raven-haired lawyer asks, now openly staring at the group of youth on the opposite side of the street.

“Uh-huh. His name is Anakin.” Answers Obi-Wan, turning his attention back to the contract like the whole conversation never happened.

Quinlan though is no longer interested in work and immediately starts prodding his ginger-haired friend with another question, his voice gaining a slightly conspiratorial tone: “Do you think Qui-Gon knows his little offspring is wasted at The Outlander?”

Obi-Wan chuckles, remembering the look of utter horror on the boy’s face when he caught him smoking after their dinner: “Considering that he doesn’t know about Anakin’s tobacco habit either, I’d presume not.”

“Shouldn’t you go and get him? Or at least call Qui-Gon to pick him up?” questions Quin skeptically, as if it’s something that one is expected to do automatically.

Obi-Wan frowns.

What Anakin does in his free time- whether it is with or without Qui-Gon’s permission- is truly none of his business and he has no right, or responsibility, to intervene in the youth’s upbringing.   

“He’s seventeen, Quinlan. I think he can handle few drinks on his own”

“You’re not a very good parent, you know that?” muses the lawyer with a teasing grin, but Obi-Wan can sense a certain degree of seriousness behind the playful statement.

“I am _not_ a parent” sighs Kenobi and hopes that his snappy tone will dissuade Vos in digging deeper into the issue.

It does not.

“I thought that Qui-Gon wanted yo-” starts to say, but Obi-Wan quickly raises his palm in warning: “Drop it, Quin”

Of course Obi-Wan knows that Qui-Gon wants him to be part of their family, to be involved, but, despite all the comfort and affection the Jinn-Skywalker family offers, Obi-Wan is reluctant to accept such strong form of attachment. And he has thought about it more than once.

Qui-Gon is epitome of a perfect partner- he is courteous, attentive and a great lover, and Obi-Wan really does love him…and he is really tempted by the idea of having something like that with Qui-Gon. Still, being in an exclusive, long-term relationship with a man is one thing, but playing parent to a 17-year-old is almost inconceivable.

“Fine, fine! Your domestic disputes are none of my business” huffs the black-haired man, throwing his arms up in defense: “The only thing I’m saying is that your boyfriend’s underage son is about to take a double dose of the Deathstick powder and head to one of the most dangerous nightclubs in Coruscant”

Obi-Wan’s head snaps up at the mention of the well-known hallucinogenic drug. Across the street he sees Anakin snapping what appears to be his second Deathstick in half and pouring all of its contents onto his tongue, ingesting it in one big gulp. The blonde smirks drunkenly at his female companion, sticks his now-clean tongue out and playfully licks the girl’s cheek. She in turn makes an annoyed face, shoves him away and swiftly moves towards the club’s door. Anakin, with a maniacal laughter, stumbles after her, handing his fake ID to a bald, muscular giant guarding the entrance and quickly scribing his name onto the VIP guest list. The bantha-sized bouncer eyes the identification with suspicion, but eventually returns the card, moves over and lets both teenagers through. The last thing Obi-Wan sees before the door closes behind them is Anakin tripping over a sole stair and gracelessly smashing into a pair of strangers walking in front of him.

Kenobi winces. Anakin looks pretty out of it. Maybe he should at least check on the boy.

But _not_ because Qui-Gon would want him to, he vehemently assures himself.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, Quinlan, but you are probably right” declares Obi-Wan hesitantly, rubbing the palms of his hands over his face to dispel the tiredness that has settled over him at the thought of smoke-filled air, loud music, and overwhelming crowds of drunk dancers.

Vos snickered: “Of course I am! Believe it or not I have been young once and I know how quickly a little bender can go down the shithole”

Passing all the different piles of documents to the grinning lawyer so he can deposit them in his suitcase, Obi-Wan sighs: “Let’s just finish this tomorrow”

***

After waving his goodbye to Quinlan and paying an obnoxious amount of credits to ‘persuade’ the bouncer that his name should indeed be on the VIP guest list, Obi-Wan finally enters the main hall of _The Outlander_. The place is packed to the point that he can barely see past first few rows of grinding party-goers, rapidly flashing strobe lights of various colors make all the movements seem jagged, and the air smells of sweat, cigarettes and cheap perfume. Fast, rhythmic music is blaring from dozens of humongous speakers placed along the celling lighting structure and a bright, neon sign above the main area reads: _Saturday Nights: LIP SYNC BATTLE_.

 _Just my luck_ , groans Obi-Wan silently and pushes through the crowd towards the nearest bar. The room is quite spacious, but, luckily for him, it doesn’t appear to have many alcoves, side-rooms, or other places where Anakin could be hiding, so he decides to just have a drink while he waits for the boy to appear.

Once he finally makes it to the tall, mahogany bar table, he sees Anakin’s little female friend hovering nearby and amicably chatting with a bartender, who looks like a slightly older version her. Probably a relative. Obi-Wan figures that _that_ is the reason both teenagers were able to get in without much trouble.  Sitting on an empty barstool, the ginger signals to the tapster for a double-shot of Corellian brandy on the rocks, and quickly scouts the surroundings in attempt to locate the blond scoundrel. Unfortunately, the swaying mass of bodies is too thick to really spot any recognizable features of anyone beyond 3 yards away, so instead he pays for his drink and disinterestedly starts studying the drink menu.

Five minutes later, just as he is about to order another round of brandy, the white-blue haired girl suddenly jumps up on to the bar, vigorously clapping her hands to the up-beat rhythm of a song that has just started to play, and shrieks: “Woohoo! Anakin!”

Following the direction of her apparent admiration, Kenobi’s eyes fall onto a small, metal stage he didn’t know was even there. In the middle of the platform, high above everyone’s head, is Anakin, provocatively swaying his hips back and forth, holding what Obi-Wan hopes to be a _fake_ microphone and winking to the audience. His wild curls are partially stuffed underneath a white pilot hat. The black leather jacket the he was wearing outside of the club is gone, leaving his lean, muscular torso completely exposed to anyone watching the show.

Anakin theatrically brings the mic closer to his lips and- _thank all the forces in the universe_ , Obi-Wan thinks- it’s not the boy’s voice that comes out of the speaker. If there is one think the redhead hates more than having to sit in a smelly, crowded nightclub is having to sit in a smelly, crowded nightclub on a karaoke night.  He hates karaoke and vehemently stands behind his opinion that not everyone is meant to participate in a public display of their supposed vocal integrity.

 _“She got a body like an hourglass, but I can give it to you all the time_ ” a female voice sings while Anakin’s lips move in perfect synchrony, making the whole performance appear very believable. The boy jumps and twirls excitedly around the stage, continuously pretending to sing into the microphone. Midway through the song some blond girl in a revealing minidress leans over the edge of the stage and stuffs few credits underneath the waistband of Anakin’s pants. Obi-Wan lets out an involuntary snicker when young Skywalker, getting down on his knees, in turn allows the girl to rub his flat stomach for a split second before hopping up again and continuing with the rest of the lip-sync spectacle.

“ _Bang bang, there goes your heart, I know you want it, Back, back seat of my car, I'll let you have it! Bang, bang!”_

At this the ginger laughs, deciding that Anakin’s number is actually pretty good in its own ostentatiousness. Somehow, he cannot imagine lyrics that would fit the half-naked rebel more than something that so obviously hints at sex and cars.

Before he can order another drink, the song ends and Obi-Wan sees Anakin get off the stage and disappear into the crowd, letting another contestant to take his place. Leaving few credits next to his empty glass for the barista, the ginger gets up and starts walking towards the place he last saw the boy.

Crawling through a tightly packed dancefloor proves to be much more time-consuming than expected, as people constantly keep either bumping into him or trying to drag him in a different direction, so by the time he finds Anakin again, the blond is already sitting at one of the secluded tables in the back, chatting with some guy. At first the situation seems innocent enough, but then the stranger starts rubbing his hand over Anakin’s inner thigh, too high up to be just friendly. The boy doesn’t seem to mind, instead he merrily laughs at something being said, drunkenly throwing his head backwards.

“How 'bout you buy me another drink first and then maybe we can have some fun” Obi-Wan hears Anakin say to the man next to him with a goofy grin.

Concluding that the boy definitely does not need any sort of help from himself, Obi-Wan is about to turn around and leave until he notices the stranger secretly pulling a small, oval pill from his pocket and dropping it into Anakin’s drink.

Roofies, Obi-Wan realizes with a frown.       

 “I think that’s enough for one night” he says loudly so that both males can hear, scowling at the stranger and quickly taking the roofied beverage away from the teenager. Anakin’s head snaps towards him, lips falling open in surprise as he recognizes who exactly dared to interrupt his little rendezvous. Obviously, he didn’t expect Obi-Wan to be at The Outlander.

A flash of panic crosses Anakin’s glossy eyes and Obi-Wan sighs, already hating the awkwardness that is bound to happen any second.

“How about I buy you a bite to eat and take you home?” he offers to Anakin, now completely ignoring the other man, who is glaring daggers at him.

“How about you just fuck off?” the stranger, who can’t be much older than Anakin, growls, getting up to face Obi-Wan, rigid and threatening: “He aint goin’ nowhere. Go find your own fuckmate.”

Obi-Wan suppresses urge to wince at the use of such vulgar language and puts on his most charming smile, clasping his free hand on the drunk’s shoulder and pushing him back into his seat: “Don’t be silly. Here, have a drink on me”

Then he proceeds to hand the stranger the spiked drink, which he’s previously confiscated from Skywalker. The rohypnol is now fully dissolved.

Not realizing Kenobi’s trick, the man grunts and gulps down entire contents of the cup, further slouching into the chair. Obi-Wan helps Anakin up.

“Let’s head out”

The blond nods obediently, a bright blush staining his cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to leave a comment - it's always fun to see whatcha guys think!


	4. Tonguetied

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan manages to drag Anakin out of the club, but what now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this half-chapter laying around my desktop for a while, so I decided to post it :) Anyway to explain a bit about the story (a warning of sorts): So it starts as Qui/Obi, but will mostly be dealing with Ani/Obi... also, i am not sure if I have emphasized it enough in the story but it is centered about a secret affair that happens between Obi and Ani... so kinda a step-dad/step-son slash-y thing...so if that's not your cup of tea...ya' know :) The rest of you, enjoy !

It takes exactly 2 minutes and 34 seconds after they’ve finally left the overly loud environment of The Outlander for Anakin to muster enough courage and eloquence to ask what he’s been dying to know ever since Kenobi first appeared at the bar.

“Did my father send you?”

Despite all the drunken slur that latches onto Anakin’s words, it’s obvious that Obi-Wan has picked up on the subtle undertone of suspicion in his voice, because one of the neatly trimmed, dark brows arches amusedly.    

“Believe it or not, my presence at The Outlander during your…ah, _intriguing theatrical act_ was a mere coincidence” explains the older man calmly, like he was telling an irritated child why it cannot have an ice cream: “I was meeting a colleague of mine at Dex’s when I saw you enter the club and I thought I might…uh, check the place out.”

Now it’s Anakin’s turn to look amused.

“You had a work-related meeting at 1 am on Saturday?” he chuckles and folds his arms across his chest, effectively demonstrating his distrust of Kenobi’s odd explanation.

Instead of blushing cheeks and cheap excuses that Anakin expected, Obi-Wan pauses in his walk, perfectly mimicking Anakin’s standoffish pose. His lean arms slide over his chest to assume a proper defensive position, but the only thing Anakin’s hazy brain can concentrate on is the firm plane of the ginger’s incredibly broad chest and an unpleasant surge of heat in the pit of his stomach. For a split second, Obi-Wan looks like he is ready reprimand the youngster for his inappropriate suggestion, but then his emerald eyes soften. He reaches into the pocket of his dress pants and pulls out a cell phone. It’s sleek and shiny, the newest generation of HoloCom, and Anakin is once more reminded of just how much money Obi-Wan must have to be able to afford such luxuries.

“Yes, some people do work even during weekends. Anyway, here-” says the ginger dismissively while pressing his phone into Anakin’s hand. The boy gives him a puzzled, but still amused look, so he explains: “you can use it to call Qui-Gon to come pick you up.”

Anakin’s playful grin vanishes in an instant.

“I can’t” he whispers dejectedly, pushing the said phone back to Obi-Wan’s hand: “If my dad sees me, he’ll know that I’ve been drinking…”

Obi-Wan gives him an incredulous look as if he’s ready to tell him something along the lines of ‘So?’ or ‘That’s called taking a responsibility for your actions’, but then Anakin employs his best sad-puppy-face and Kenobi simply rolls his eyes, taking the shiny HoloCom back. A small wave of relief washes over the blond teenager.

There is a heavy pause during which Anakin struggles to keep his blushing cheeks under control while Obi-Wan scrutinizes him with an unreadable look.

“I guess you could stay the night at my place…” sighs the older man finally, sounding like he is not at all sure about his decision, but Anakin in turn grins like a mad man anyway- not only will he not have to deal with his father, but he will also get to see where Obi-Wan lives. Two birds, one bullet.

“But you still need to call Qui-Gon and tell him that you are safe” adds Kenobi quickly upon seeing Anakin’s all-too-cocky grin, doing his best to sound like a stern teacher, but his command is met only with more of pouting lips and puppy eyes.

Realizing that he will not get the blond boy to cooperate, Obi-Wan sighs again and quickly dials Qui-Gon’s number.

“Hey, love. I-” murmurs Obi-Wan into the cell phone, turning to face the poorly illuminated road: “yes, I know. He is here with me right now.”

Anakin quietly sneaks behind him, lightly leaning his chin over the ginger’s shoulder and pressing his right ear onto the backside of the phone, so that he could also hear the conversation. His hazy brain barely registers just how intimate the position they assumed is- his chest tightly pressed against Kenobi’s back, their faces side by side with only the cell phone’s polymer case separating them. An alluring scent of Obi-Wan’s surely-overpriced cologne fills Anakin’s nostrils as he accidentally nuzzles too close to the collar of the older man’s shirt. It’s strangely dizzing and his hand almost automatically reaches to settle on Obi-Wan’s hip, his fingers grazing the lower hem of the shirt.

Suddenly, he remembers how his father’s hands caressed the exactly same spot on Kenobi’s skin, just above the waistband of his pants, both possessive and loving at the same time. More importantly though, he remembers just how _compliant_ Obi-Wan looked then, submissively open to all the touches, the pale skin radiating heat and energy like an exploding supernova.

The tips of Anakin’s fingers slowly slide underneath the fabric of Kenobi’s shirt, gently grazing the skin there with the lightest of touches. He could almost make it look like an accidental brush of their bodies, but suddenly his hands seem unwilling to move away. It’s way beyond what would be considered an appropriate way to touch your father’s lover, Anakin knows, but he is little too inebriated to really care.

And, by some miracle, Obi-Wan doesn’t seem to mind either. Or at least, he doesn’t notice.

Either way, the thought makes Anakin grin.

“Anakin is with you? Thank the Force! Is he alright? He didn’t come home tonight and his phone is dead” comes the worried voice of his father from the other side of the line.

“Don’t worry, he’s fine. We’re at my place downtown.” answers Obi-Wan calmly, completely ignoring Anakin’s closeness.

Anakin hears his father sigh tiredly and he can almost imagine the old man massaging his temples with a mixture of mild agitation and disappointment: “He’s drunk, isn’t he? Please, tell me he didn’t get arrested or something like that.”

The ginger tilts his head lightly to shoot Anakin an all-telling look as if to say ‘You owe me one’.

“No, no, nothing like that” he proceeds to state calmly, his steely eyes never leaving Anakin’s bright ones: “Listen, Qui-Gon, it’s all my fault.”

Anakin’s eyebrows shoot up at Kenobi’s last statement, but the older man averts his gaze before he even has a chance to mouth ‘what?’

“I was supposed to call you. Anakin and some of his friends wanted to use my home theater to watch some sporting event and he had asked me to call you, but I got side-tracked by work…again.”

Anakin mouth falls open at the blunt lie Obi-Wan just told his father.

_Is Kenobi lying to protect him?_

“I’m really sorry.” Adds Obi-Wan quickly, a bashful tint in his voice making the apology seem almost real.

There is a short silence on Qui-Gon’s end and Anakin can tell that his father is probably just as surprised as he is by the information. After all, Anakin and Obi-Wan have only met a week ago at the dinner and the young Skywalker is not exactly known to make new connections easily.

But whatever Kenobi’s reasoning for that particular lie is, it works, and Anakin can hear his father’s much more cheerful response: “No problem. I’m just glad you are both safe. Do you want me to come and pick him up? I can be there in 30 minutes.”

The blond’s fingers on Obi-Wan’s hips twitch, but the older man ignores him, instead answering the phone with a measured tone: “That won’t be necessary. He can stay here till tomorrow.”

“Are you certain? I would hate for him to impose on your time…” Qui-Gon asks and for a split second Anakin worries that he might actually try to drive all the way downtown to pick him up, but luckily, Obi-Wan is quick to reassure his lover with another white lie: “Yes, it’s fine, I promise. He’s already asleep on the couch anyway.”

“Well, in that case, I should come anyway and we could spend some time together. Alone. I’d really love to see you” whispers Qui-Gon seductively to his lover, oblivious to the fact that Anakin’s ear is still pressed close to the phone’s speaker

“Qui-Gon!” splutters Obi-Wan, blushing and horrified at his lover’s bluntness. He quickly pulls away from the young blonde, who is already snickering and quietly pantomiming vomiting noises for a good measure.

The red-faced ginger glares at him in return.

“How about you come in the morning and then we can all have a breakfast together?” offers Obi-Wan into the phone, briskly walking out of Anakin’s earshot.

The youngster observes attentively as the ginger tiredly leans on a lamp post, quietly murmuring into the phone. The opaque, golden light falls on the top of his head, illuminating the coppery hair in a way that makes it seem like a pristine, fiery halo of a tempter demon…or maybe the purest of angels, Anakin isn’t quite sure, but one thing he does know with certainty is that Obi-Wan Kenobi is one of the most attractive people he has ever met. Everything about the man seems so perfect and refined…  

“Alright” Obi-Wan’s voice interrupts his musings, pulling his back to cold, hard reality.

“Yes, I love you, too” declares the ginger into the HoloCom with an affectionate smile and Anakin feels a soft stab at chest, but decides to ignore it.

“Who would have guessed my father is into lying types?” he teases as soon as Obi-Wan puts his HoloCom away.

The response is quick and snappy, but it manages to elicit a bark of laughter from both of them anyway.

“I guess he doesn’t mind liars so much since he’s already raised one”

 

TBC...coming up next: sleep over at Obi-Wan's


	5. Fight Or Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sleepover...finally:)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this update took forever, but...too much stuff to catch up on...Feel free to drop me a line in the comments below ;)

 

It would be a lie to say that Anakin isn’t surprised when they finally stop at the front entrance to The Jedi Order Administrative Headquarters, one of largest, corporately owned skyscrapers in Coruscant, sometimes also nicknamed _The Temple_ for its unusually fane-like structure and ominous lighting. A young, well-dressed man standing on the top of the main stairway swiftly pulls one of the large mahogany door open, smiling politely and signaling for them to enter.

“Good evening, Master Kenobi” greets the young man cheerfully as they come nearer: “Master Vos called a short while ago saying that you will be probably coming by. Would you like to have your dinner brought up to the penthouse tonight?”

Obi-Wan pauses in his step, which causes Anakin, who was up till now slowly trailing behind him and secretly admiring the view, clumsily bump into his back and let out an audible ‘kriff’. Both men turn to stare at the youngster- Obi-Wan with mild amusement sparkling through his steely eyes and the doorman with a look of utter distaste written all over his features. Anakin’s cheeks turn tomato-red within seconds.

He is just about to mutter some sort of apology, when the doorman speaks again, turning his head to address Obi-Wan: “Is this your guest, Master Kenobi, or do I need to alert the security to show this _gentleman_ out?”

The snarky tone with which the question is stated makes Anakin’s blood boil in his veins and his head snaps up to look at the cheeky doorman. The male is young, probably not more than few years over twenty, with sharp green eyes and neatly trimmed, dark brown hair. His high cheekbones give his face a strange aura of rigid authority and, if his full lips weren’t curled into an unpleasant snarl, Anakin could have almost classify him as handsome.

How dare this doorman treat him like a common bum?

“That won’t be necessary, Ferus” chuckles Obi-Wan, gently patting the young man’s shoulder in friendly manner: “Anakin will be staying the night at my place.”

Ferus’s frown wavers as his eyes travel back to the ginger. There is an odd look on his face as he mentally assesses the situation, and if Anakin didn’t know any better he would say that Ferus looks almost jealous.

“Yes, Master Kenobi…” the dark haired male nods hesitantly.

Obi-Wan smiles, retracting his hand from the other’s shoulder: “Good. Please, have somebody bring an extra meal and take the rest of the night off.”

“Yes, Master Kenobi” repeats Ferus as they slip by, which allows Anakin to give the brunette a nice view of his erected middle finger as soon as Obi-Wan’s back to them.

“”Thank you, Ferus” says Kenobi, grabbing the blond’s arm and ushering him towards one of the elevators: “Come, Anakin.”

“Is your doorman always this polite to strangers?” asks Anakin as soon as the elevator doors slide shut behind them. They stand so close to each other that it’s hard to miss the cheeky grin that flashes across Kenobi’s face.

“That doorman happens to be my executive assistant…” he points out with an amused look, bright green eyes sparkling with mischief: “a very good one, for that matter. But to answer your question, yes. Ferus takes his job of protecting me very seriously, which unfortunately causes him to be a bit distrustful towards strangers.”

Anakin opens his mouth to inform the ginger of his strong dislike of Ferus, but before he can get the words out, the elevator chime rings and chrome doors slide apart, revealing a vast, open space of Kenobi’s penthouse apartment.

And it is luxurious, indeed. Dark, marble floors match perfectly with every other piece of furniture in sight and provide sharp contrast for pristinely white walls in a perfect balance of dark and light. There are few _normal_ things here and there- a set of keys laying on the shelf near the entrance, a sole painting of a faceless woman hung between two enormous windows, few pairs of shoes neatly tucked next to a wardrobe- but other than that, the place seems untouched, almost bare, like one of those expensive showcase homes uptown that no one had the chance to decorate yet.

“You don’t get many visitors, do you?” chuckles Anakin and playfully swipes his index finger across one of the polished surfaces before bringing it in front of his face for a closer inspection. As expected, the tip of his finger is completely dust-free, yet the blond still chooses to make a big show of vigorously wiping it on the material of his pants.

“I don’t stay here very often” admits Obi-Wan with a shrug as he lazily strolls into what Anakin assumes is a kitchen. For a second the youngster considers following him but quickly decides against it in favor of exploring the rest of the apartment. Now that he has made it past the overly dull décor, Anakin can tell that there is more to this place than meets the eye.

He makes his way into the living room, where his attention is immediately drawn towards an enormous TV screen hanging on the wall near the doorway. Its sleek surface reaches a lot further than Anakin can spread his arms, taking up nearly all the wall space available between the doorway and a window. Three different remote controllers are organized into a perfectly straight line on the edge of a low, glass coffee table right below the screen, which makes the blond doubt that Kenobi ever even uses them.

_He probably has Ferus changing the channels for him_ , Anakin snickers silently at an image of the brunette doorman rushing up and all the 70 sets of stairs just to press one measly button on the controller. Of course, that would never happen since the building had elevators and all, but the idea is still amusing.

Anakin’s eyes drift to a small picture frame propped up on the other side of the coffee table. Carefully picking it up, he inspects the photo. A familiar figure of his father, all bundled up in his favorite winter coat, is leisurely leaning on the railing of the Coruscant Business District bridge, his arm possessively wrapped around Obi-Wan’s shoulders. The ginger’s face is halfway buried in a woolen scarf around the taller man’s neck, but the bright smile on his lips is more than obvious. They are both waving into the camera, their hair and shoulders covered in a thin layer of snow.

_How long have they been together_ , Anakin wonders with a frown. It has been at least a year since the last snow fall in Coruscant…Could they have been together that long without him even noticing? An unpleasant lump settles in his stomach at the thought of it.

Obi-Wan’s voice coming from the kitchen interrupts his pondering: “Anything to drink?”

“Nah, I’m good” he calls back, setting the picture back down.

He really shouldn’t be going through Obi-Wan’s privat things like that. It also shouldn’t matter whom or when Obi-Wan is dating. It really shouldn’t, yet it feels like it _does_. A lot.  

It’s probably just all the alcohol he had tonight, he decides and shakes his head for a good measure, attempting to look anywhere but the offending photo. Kenobi is nice and Qui-Gon is obviously smitten with him, and that is all that matters. Period.

Meanwhile Anakin’s fighting for control with his inappropriate mind, Obi-Wan gets done with whatever he was doing in the kitchen and strolls into the living room, a full bottle of Corellian whisky in one hand and two empty glasses in the other. Anakin only raises a questioning eyebrow and takes one of the glasses that the ginger is offering.

Their fingers brush gently and Anakin _knows_ he shouldn’t drink anymore, but he doesn’t want Kenobi to think that he is some little child that cannot hold his liquor, so he takes a sip. It burns his throat, but he manages to school his features before his companion has a chance to notice something is amiss.

“You can sleep in my bedroom and I will take the couch. The bathroom is down this hall to the lef-” starts to say Kenobi as he points to the doorway across the room, but gets interrupted midway by Anakin letting out something very similar to a delighted squeak.

“No way!” exclaims the teenager excitedly, hastily setting his drink on the coffee table and making his way across the room towards a small chrome box laid below the TV: “You got HoloVid 6000s?”

Not waiting for Kenobi’s answer, he immediately goes wire the box to the AUX connector on the side of the TV screen.

“Oh, that thing over there? It was already here when I moved in…I figured somebody must have forgotten it…” says Obi-Wan, clearly oblivious to the priceless treasure in his possession.

“What does it do?” he asks when Anakin, whose fingers are tangled in a variety of colored cables and plastic parts, doesn’t acknowledge him.

Like a child on Christmas day, Anakin grins up at the older man: “It’s a 3rd generation immersive VR system with a newest type Octo-Core processor and graphic capabilities to process extremely large audio-visual files in real time.”

There is a pause.

“You use it to play video games” he explains when Kenobi gives him a blank look.

Obi-Wan frowns, taking a sip from the glass of amber liquor in his hand: “So it’s just a gaming console?”

“Only like the best gaming console on the market…” Anakin rolls his eyes again: “hold on, let me show you.” He adds and pushes one of the motion controllers into the ginger’s empty hand.

Kenobi simply sighs, muttering something about not being quite ‘drunk enough for this’, but takes the controller anyway and obediently slumps onto the floor near the blond. Anakin gives him an approving look and turns on the screen. A bright blue image appears; there are two lines of large white letters flashing across the field of view: Masters of Pod-Racing, Mos Espa Edition.

“It looks pretty plain…” comments Obi-Wan when Anakin presses a button and another blue/white screen appears, this time featuring some general options for the game play.

“That’s because you have to put your headset on to activate the system.” Explains Anakin as he jams a goggles-looking device over the ginger’s head, then proceeds to put on one of his own: “Here, these are sensors. Just keep them in your hands and the detector over there will track your movements and process them.”

He points at the controller’s countless buttons and lights. 

“Wow…”gapes Kenobi once his eyes look at the screen through the headset.

“Pretty cool, huh?” grins Anakin, vigorously noting all the new graphical features that his old HoloVid at home doesn’t have.

“What game is this?” asks Kenobi.

“Mos Espa Podracer. You choose your starting speeder-pod and then you race it” the blond points his finger at one of the many virtual vehicles, zooming it in and out with the controller as the racer’s three-dimensional image spins in front of their eyes: “the more races you win, the more upgrades you can buy. Let me show you.”

He enthusiastically helps the older man to choose a pod before selecting his own. Once an agreed-upon race track is loaded, both of them settle on the carpeted floor in front of the screen.

“Alright. Let’s race!” declares Anakin and pushes the start button.

The two pods shoot out into a computer-generated desert so fast that Obi-Wan barely manages to familiarize himself with the controls before he is forced to spiral his pod out of the track to avoid a giant rock formation. Fortunately, the game is not that difficult to handle and he quickly returns to his place next to Anakin’s speeder. They are about to reach the finish line at the same time, when Anakin suddenly swerves right into Kenobi’s pod, sending it way off its original course and zooming past the checkered indicator himself.

“Woohoo! I win!” the blond shouts, throwing his hands victoriously in the air as if he was at a real race.

“You cheated.” Huffs Obi-Wan, but Anakin only grins in return: “Nah-ah. That’s the point of pod-racing. No rules, no regulations, no limits.”

“Ready for rematch?” the blond asks, his chin tilted in challenge.

Kenobi seems to eye him for a second, before he finishes his drink in one long gulp and shrugs: “Alright.”

The race proceeds just as before, except this time just as Anakin is about to pull off one of his ‘winning maneuvers’, Obi-Wan very inconspicuously bumps into his shoulder, making the blond’s controller fall out of his hands and onto the ground.

“Hey!” protests Anakin, but it’s already too late. Obi-Wan’s speeder has crossed the finish line and is now collecting all the points.

Kenobi smiles innocently like nothing out of ordinary happened: “Oh, it would appear I have won.”

“But you cheated! You pulled on my controller cable!” Anakin retorts incredulously, but Obi-Wan just winks at him and says: “But _That’s the point of pod-racing. No rules, no regulations, no limits_.”

“Oh, very mature.” Anakin really tries to keep a stern face, but Kenobi’s carefree laughter is so infectious that he soon finds the corners of his mouth curling upwards anyway: “Fine, have it your way; rematch!”

So they play again and again, each time devising a new ways to cheat the other one from victory to the point that Anakin attempts to cover Obi-Wan’s eyes with one hand while using the other to safely navigate his speeder through the course. Unfortunately, Kenobi isn’t one to let go of his chances so as soon as possible he jams his index finger right between the lowest two of Anakin’s ribs. The younger man squeaks at the ticklish/painful sensation and tries to move away. His speeder spirals out of control and the ginger next to him lets out a victorious ‘Ha!’

Without a second thought, Anakin drops his controller and pounces onto the unsuspecting ginger, toppling both of them over in a hazy mass of limbs and laughter. Kenobi’s headset flies off and his back relaxes onto the cold floor as his attacker climbs on top of him, quickly gaining the position of power. One of Anakin’s hands pins Obi-Wan’s arms above the ginger’s head, while the other lands right next to his head, allowing his body to hover directly above the older man’s. They are so close now that when Obi-Wan lets out a huff of carefree laughter, Anakin can almost taste the sweet, intoxicating scent of the Corellian whisky on Obi-Wan’s breath.

Their bodies slowly still but neither of them makes a move to get up. Still chuckling at the silliness of the whole situation, Obi-Wan allows his head to loll sideways to rest against Anakin’s propped up arm. A stray lock of coppery hair slides across Kenobi’s forehead, settling directly between his two brows, and Anakin cannot help but gently brush it off with fingers of is free hand.

Kenobi is so beautiful. So perfect.

He knows he should hate himself for even thinking something like that but there is no way he can deny this attraction, this Force, that drags him towards the other man. Not when they are this close.

Maybe never.

“I win…” whispers Anakin, all the childish playfulness gone from his voice, replaced by a low tremble of lust and desire. Their eyes meet and maybe it’s the alcohol in his blood or maybe just his vivid imagination, but there seems to be a soft undertone of understanding in the two gray orbs below him. The whole world around them, including the repetitive jingle of the videogame, slowly fades into the background as Anakin silently watches his own fingers slide out of Kenobi’s hairline and over the pale skin of his temples until they settle just below the curve of his cheekbones. His gaze does not stop there though, it follows the trail of soft, neatly trimmed bristles all the way to where they start to recede again at the corner of Obi-Wan’s mouth. The pale lips are hanging slightly open, still somewhat glossy from the sweet liquor, and Anakin suddenly finds himself wanting nothing more than to kiss them until they’re swollen and raw. Until Kenobi is gasping in pleasure underneath him.

He can feel the soft heat of the other man’s body against his own like a river of scalding lava, burning and unyielding, bringing him ever-closer to the point of no return. The sound of his own rapid heartbeat resonates in his ears like drums, as he gently lowers his head closer to Kenobi’s. For a split second, his gaze flickers back to the ginger’s eyes- they are wide open with surprise and perhaps even a little bit of panic, but that doesn’t matter to Anakin. They are already so close that their noses almost brush as Anakin tentatively leans in further.

Then suddenly Kenobi’s hand is on his chest, not pushing him away, but holding him firmly enough to stop his body from coming any closer.

And just like that the spell is broken and Anakin quickly scuffles off of the older man’s body, his drunken mind finally catching up to him.

_What has he done? This is wrong!_

“I- I…sorry” he manages to croak out over the sound of his heart thumping viciously, blood rushing to his cheeks. Kenobi blinks few times and then clumsily gets up from the floor. His legs sway a bit at the quick movement and Anakin realizes that the ginger is probably just as drunk as he.

_This is WRONG!_

“I think it was enough fun for one night…” Obi-Wan says evenly, but his eyes don’t quite meet Anakin’s.

_WRONG!!_

The blond can’t get enough of his wits together to formulate an answer so he just stares as Kenobi hastily leaves the living room.

Once the door to obi-Wan’s bedroom click closed, Anakin’s body finally gives out.

This is really bad, thinks Anakin bitterly as he lies on the floor, angry with himself and painfully hard.

 


End file.
